


Kings do not belong in birthing chambers

by Attenia



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attenia/pseuds/Attenia
Summary: When Arwen is giving birth to his first son, Aragorn doesn't know what to do with himself. Legolas drags his friend away and manages to distract him and ease his worries about being a father. Aragorn/Arwen pairing, but this mainly a Legolas/Aragorn friendship story.





	Kings do not belong in birthing chambers

Arwen screamed again, and Aragorn fluttered uselessly around her, his hands moving from her forehead to her shoulder and back to her forehead again. “What can I do? How can I help?”  
“Go away, Estel,” Arwen groaned. “You don’t need to see this.”  
“I am not leaving you.”  
Arwen turned her head and met Elissa’s eyes. The midwife nodded and immediately started chivvying Aragorn out.  
“Go on, out with you! I’ll call you when your son is born. For now, go do something useful with yourself.”  
“You can’t order me out, I’m the king!”  
“Kings do not belong in birthing chambers,” Elissa said firmly. “Now get going!”  
She slammed the door in his face.  
A chuckle had him spinning around. “Legolas,” Aragorn sighed. “You came.”  
“Of course I came. I got a rather panicked message from my best friend telling me to hurry, that Arwen was suffering and in pain. You rather gave the impression she was dying, mellon nin, not a pleasant idea to be given when you’re woken up in the middle of the night.”  
“I’m sorry, I –” Aragorn broke off at the sound of another agonizing scream from his wife. “I should get back in there…”  
“Oh no you don’t. I saw the midwife kick you out. You’re coming with me.”  
Legolas grabbed his arm and started hauling him away. Aragorn grumbled faintly, but allowed the prince to pull him outside into the garden, far enough away that he couldn’t hear Arwen anymore.  
“What if something goes wrong? I should be closer.”  
“If something goes wrong, they will call you. Now just relax, gwador. This is going to take a long time, there’s no point in exhausting yourself with stress now.”  
Legolas was right, of course, but not stressing was easier said than done. Aragorn’s mind was spinning with every possible, horrible thing that could go awry, and that was just with the birth. Afterward…  
“Spit it out, Estel.”  
Legolas could read him too well. “I… I don’t think this was a good idea, mellon nin,” Aragorn admitted. “I’m going to be a horrible father.”  
“Why in the world would you think that, you foolish human?”  
“How can I raise a child, gwador? I have no idea what to do! He’ll be so tiny; what if I hurt him? What if I look away at the wrong moment and something happens? How will I make sure that he is happy and safe? How?”  
“Oh, Estel.” Legolas put an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “If you were not having these worries, you would be a terrible father indeed. No one knows how to do it, mellon nin. You’ll figure it out as you go, and you won’t be alone. I will be with you and Arwen, as will Éowyn and Faramir. When your family hears of the birth, they will be here as fast as their horses can carry them. Gimli won’t be far behind. You’ll be lucky to get any time with your son at all, in fact.”  
That was all true enough, but Aragorn still worried.   
Legolas tried to distract him. “Do you have a name yet?”  
“Eldarion. Arwen and I only agreed on it yesterday. I guess we were just in time.” Aragorn stared off into space, desperately hoping that Eldarion would grow up to be happy and always know he was loved.  
“Right, that’s it, come on, Estel.”  
Legolas got up from the bench they were sitting on and yanked Aragorn to his feet. “We’re going back?” he asked hopefully.  
“Not a chance, mellon nin. Elissa was right, kings do not belong in birthing chambers. Do you still have that storeroom where you dump everything that doesn’t have a proper place?”  
“Yes…” Aragorn didn’t know where Legolas was going with this, but he wasn’t sure he liked it.  
“Good. We’re going to organize it.”  
He stared at his friend in disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”  
“I am very serious, Estel. No use getting one of the servants to do it when here we are, with nothing but time on our hands.”  
His arguments fell on deaf ears as Legolas pulled him along. Aragorn winced when they got to the store room. He should never have let it get this bad, and was now thoroughly regretting not assigning a team of servants to sort through the mess.  
Legolas tossed him a box of rusted sword hilts. “Sort those into piles of which can be repaired and which have to be melted down, Estel.” The prince started picking up various cloth items on the floor – from pieces of clothing to table covers – and likewise arranging them into different piles.  
Aragorn sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to win this one, and started sorting the sword hilts. “Are you sure we shouldn’t check on –”  
His words were interrupted by a truly foul tunic that Legolas deftly threw into his face. “Legolas, that’s disgusting! This thing has mold on it.”  
“Then focus on what you’re supposed to be doing, and the next time I throw something at you, you’ll catch it.”  
It seemed that Legolas had either developed Elrond’s gift of foresight, or he had gained the ability to read minds, because every time Aragorn’s thoughts started straying from the storeroom to worries about his wife and son, the prince was quick to throw something else at him.  
He managed to catch the muddy boot and half-shredded tapestry, but he was smacked in the face by a ratty old backpack, that turned out to have a number of maggots in it. This started an all-out war, during which Legolas’ hair became smeared with maggots and Aragorn somehow got purple ink all over his pants.   
The sounds of their laughter drew the servants, who stared in awe as their king took on this unpleasant duty that would otherwise have fallen to one of them.   
It took hours to clean out the store room, though that did include the time he and Legolas got diverted by tickle wars, which probably added a fair amount to the total. Just as the room was done and they were heading off to bathe, Elissa came running down the corridor.  
“King Elessar! It is done, your son is born.”  
Aragorn stumbled and changed direction, heading for the birthing chamber. “Is he ok? Is Arwen?”  
“They’re both fine,” Elissa told him kindly. “The babe is being cleaned off and Arwen is resting for a bit before the afterbirth comes. Now wait right there, you can’t see her yet.”  
“Why not?” Aragorn growled, resisting the urge to shake off Elissa’s restraining arm.   
“My king… you are covered in – I don’t even know what that is. Dirt, mold, ink? And are those maggots? Your wife would faint if you approached her newborn son in that state. You will take a bath before going anywhere near her.”  
Legolas chuckled. “She has you there, mellon nin, you look like a disease waiting to happen.”  
“And whose fault is that?”  
“Let’s just go bathe, you stinky human.”  
“Look who’s talking. Are you sure you didn’t sit in a dead skunk?”  
They teased each other all the way to the baths, where Aragorn washed as quickly as he could. When he returned, Elissa finally deemed him acceptable, and he was allowed back into the birthing chamber. Legolas followed behind, also newly washed and dressed.  
Arwen was propped up on a couple of pillows, her shirt down as she fed Eldarion.  
“Arwen, he’s beautiful,” Aragorn breathed, moving close.   
She tilted her head back for a kiss, looking tired but somehow at the same time radiant. “I knew he would be. I think he’s done feeding, do you want to hold him?”  
Aragorn hesitated. What if he dropped him?  
“Of course he does,” Legolas said, nudging his friend forward. Aragorn slowly took the baby, staring into his bright blue eyes. Now that he was holding his son, he never wanted to let go. He exchanged a smile with Arwen. “Rest, meleth nin, I have him.”  
She nodded. “I could use a nap. Wake me if he needs to feed again.” It was only moments before she drifted off.   
Aragorn twisted his head back to look at Legolas, who was standing behind him with a hand on the king’s shoulder.  
“Thank you, mellon nin. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”  
“Me neither.” Legolas gave him an impish grin. “You truly were useless, Estel, it was quite charming to see. It’s a good thing you had that store room that needed cleaning.”  
“Speak for yourself,” Aragorn muttered. “I still haven’t forgotten those maggots.”  
“Think of it this way, it’ll be a great story when Eldarion gets a bit older – while his mother was giving birth to him, his father was busy smearing maggots into his uncle’s hair.”  
“Don’t you dare.”  
“Careful, Estel, you’re holding a baby.” Legolas danced back, free from any form of retaliation.   
“You’d better run,” Aragorn warned. “When Elissa comes back, I’m handing Eldarion over, and then you’ll be in trouble.”  
“Ha, like you could catch me anyway.” Legolas’ musical laugh had Eldarion’s little head moving, as if seeking the beautiful sound. Aragorn just shook his head, smiling at his friend.   
“I’m glad you’re here, Legolas.”  
“Me too, mellon nin. Me too.”


End file.
